


Ink

by A_For_Accidental



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Magical Tattoos, Marauders' Era, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_For_Accidental/pseuds/A_For_Accidental
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was common knowledge that Sirius Black had many marks on his skin -- the majority of which were tattoos.<br/>It was not common knowledge that these bits of ink were Sirius' life, laid out on his skin, from beginning to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Written based off of this post (http://the-alpha-poptart.tumblr.com/post/123943044658/)
> 
> Companion piece to "Don't Tell Mother", but it's not required reading.

Remus woke to quiet hissing coming from the bed beside him, barely audible through the thick curtains. Of course, that hadn’t _really_ woken him up; the nightmares he had each night were enough to keep him drifting between sleep and consciousness on a regular basis. The sound had just barely graced his ears before he'd jerked upright, a cold sweat already settling into his skin as it did every night.

The hissing sound came again; this time more pointed, like someone in pain.

"Sirius?" he whispered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. The responding grunt was enough for him to be assured that yes, it was Sirius, and no, he wasn't dreaming again. Remus sighed and tugged on a pair of pajama bottoms making sure to grab his wand before he climbed out of his bed and into Sirius', tugging the curtains closed behind him.

"I'm fine, Remus," Sirius greeted, holding a bloodied cloth to his shoulder and smiling. "Just messing around. Go back to bed."

Remus raised an eyebrow and frowned. Instead of trying to argue, he cast a silencing spell on the bed and turned back to Sirius, pinching his nose. "What are you messing with, then?"

Sirius's smile grew infinitesimally, and he carefully peeled away the soaked cloth to reveal something that looked suspiciously like a paw print carved into his shoulder. "I was playing around with tattoos, you know? Figuring out how to do it. Thought this would be a good start. I've always wanted one." He shrugged and winced, bringing the cloth back to his shoulder.

Remus shook his head and took the rag, leaving the bed long enough to switch it out with a clean one and leave the soiled rag soaking in hot water in the bathroom. When he returned, he handed Sirius the rag. "You did this in your own? You do realize that tattoos are ink put into people's skin with needles, yeah?"

Smile falling a bit, Sirius looked back at his shoulder. "Yeah. I thought I could work a spell that did it painlessly, but . . ." He trailed off, heaving a heavy breath. "I guess I really messed up, huh?"

"Only slightly. Just poked a wee bit too deep, I think."

Sirius nodded and shifted himself on the bed. He wiped at his shoulder again, cleaning up some excess blood before picking up his wand and clearing his throat. "I'm gonna try again."

"D’you want help?" Remus asked, holding up his own wand.

"Nah, I can do it. Just . . . stand by with healing spells, I guess?"

"Okay."

After another deep breath, Sirius shifted the grip on his wand to mimic holding a pencil, and pressed the tip of his wand into the skin of his shoulder.

It took about ten minutes for him to figure out the outline of the tattoo, how deep he needed to go, how much ink to use on certain parts and not others. He talked to Remus the whole time in hushed tones, sometimes explaining what he was doing, sometimes just babbling about unimportant things like a book he'd just read or how the desserts from the previous night had tasted.

Finally, he set down his wand and blotted at the skin a few more times before he turned so Remus could see it fully.

It was the paw print of a dog, all of the crevices of the pads and lines of the nails drawn in remarkable detail. Remus knew that Sirius could draw, and draw well, but he had no idea he could preserve an image this accurately.

"Padfoot?" Remus guessed, hovering his fingers over the red skin.

Sirius grinned and nodded, leaning back on his pillows. "The first night, Moony. The first night I've ever been that free."

Remus felt a knot in his chest, and he shook his head. "You shouldn't have done this.”

Leaning back, Sirius snorted. “Well, it’s done now, and you helped me.”

“No, not that,” Remus corrected. “Any of _this_.” He hovered his fingers over the paw print, pink and slightly risen from Sirius’ arm, and thought about the real paws that had run with him that night. “Not for me, anyway."

There were a few moments of silence before Sirius sighed. "You joking, Moons? You know we'd do anything for you. All of us."

"You've barely known me three years, Sirius."

"Yeah, well, when you're stuck with a bloke for that long, you tend to get attached. It's a real hassle."

Remus snorted and shoved at Sirius's unscathed shoulder, feeling a smile creep onto his own face. "Well, you’ve got me for four more years, lad. Best learn how to live with it."

"Damn."

The giggles that followed were enough to leave Remus lightheaded and lighthearted.

 

-

-

-

 

"So, I think the spell works something like this." James sketched a pair of footprints onto the parchment he was using to taking notes, working the shape until it was something he seemed satisfied with. He set down the quill, picked up his wand, and flicked his eyes at Sirius before waving his wand over the drawing, mumbling the aforementioned spell.

Both boys watched the paper expectantly, but nothing moved. James slumped back against his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Damn it all," he sighed. "I thought that would work."

"Where'd you find the spell?" Sirius asked, twirling his own wand between his fingers.

"Some charms textbook from the library. We're not technically supposed to cover this stuff until sixth year, I think." James sat up, cleaning his glasses on his t-shirt. "But we can't wait a whole year, Pads. The map is so close to done, I can taste it."

Sirius nodded absently, running over the spell in his mind, trying to figure out how it worked. Spell mechanics was always his forte, but normally he had something solid to go off of. Not an idea and a vague understanding of the magic they were using.

Several minutes passed before Sirius thought of something. "Pass me the quill," he said, grabbing the air in the general direction of James, who raised an eyebrow but passed him the quill and the ink nonetheless. Sirius loaded up the quill and started drawing on the exposed skin of his hip.

"Uh, Pads?" James asked, leaning closer. "Don't you want some paper--”

"Shh!" Sirius replied, flapping his hand. He stuck his tongue between his teeth, focusing on the spell as it floated around his brain. Change a word here, flop the intonation there, a slightly altered wand pattern, and suddenly the footprints were wandering around Sirius's hip. They stopped when they reached his belt line, stood as if pondering another course, and turned to continue in a straight line up into his shirt.

"Take it off, take it off! Sirius!" James yelled, his eyes widening as he began to grab at Sirius's collar. With the combined efforts of both boys, they ripped off the shirt and watched in fascination as the feet made their way up to Sirius’s shoulder, around his neck, and back down onto his chest.

“Merlin’s _beard,_ Pads,” James breathed.

The two boys met eyes, stared at each other for a moment, and laughed, grinning and clapping each other on the shoulder with exclamations of “we got it!” and “you brilliant bastard!”

Finally, they both rushed out of the commons and into their dorm, waking the sleeping inhabitants with their emphatic successes.

-

-

-

Sighing, Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sirius. It’s been two days.”

“And?” came the muffled reply.

“You have to come back to class at _some_ point,” Remus said. The lump in Sirius’ bed twitched and curled closer into itself, black hair getting even more matted as it was shifted around against the sheets. A large weight seemed to settle itself on Remus’s chest, compounding that which was already there, and he softened his voice as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Look, maybe going back to class is best for you, is all I’m saying. Distractions, and all that.”

Under the sheets, Sirius forced a laugh. “‘M not like you, Moony. Class doesn’t distract me. I get distracted _from_ class. I’m no brainiac.”

“Says the one who finished the most intricate magical tool I’ve ever seen at only sixteen.”

“But--”

“ _And_ the one who became a bloody _animagus_ in his _third year_. You passed all of your O.W.Ls last term with flying colours, and you practically _rewrote_ your Advanced Arithmancy exam with the score you earned. Don’t start telling me you’re not intelligent, Black, because you really truly are.”

Several seconds of silence passed until Remus shook his head. “You can’t stay in here. You can’t waste your life away in this bed. It won’t solve anything, trust me, I’ve tried it.”

Sirius sighed and shook his head beneath the blankets. “It’s . . . he’s my _brother_ , Remus. He was the one person I had at home that didn’t think I was deranged, or broken, or dishonorable. But now . . .” There was a sniffle from under the blanket. “He’s caught up in all this shit and it was my _job_. He was supposed to be _normal,_ or at least to be different from them, like me. I-I left and now he’s like this because I w-wasn’t--because I couldn’t _protect_ him, Remus.” He was shaking, and Remus could hear his breath go ragged as he choked back tears.

He placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, stroking gently until the sobs had subsided. “It’s just not healthy for you to stay cooped up in here all day, doing nothing,” Remus whispered. “You’ll go mental.”

Sirius made some noise of acknowledgement, but otherwise said nothing. After a moment, Remus stood and straightened his sweater. “I should be getting down to dinner. Filch’ll have my tail for being late.” He wasn’t actually hungry, but James and Peter were probably wondering where Remus had wandered off to, and if Sirius was okay. They’d both been sort of in the dark during the last few days since--much to James’ annoyance--Sirius would only speak to Remus for the time being. And, while he was down in the Great Hall, he could pick up some food to try to coax into Sirius before he fell into more nightmare-plagued sleep.

As he moved away, his goals for the night decided, a hand snaked out from under the blankets and grabbed his sleeve, tugging softly. “Wait.”

Remus stopped, and watched as Sirius unearthed himself from his nest. He was shirtless, clad in only his pajama bottoms, as he had been for a while, and the little footprints were wandering around his collarbone and over his shoulder. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were ringed red and puffy from crying. Gods above, Remus thought. He was a wreck. “Could, um, could you stay?” Sirius asked, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “I need . . . I need help with something.” Remus raised an eyebrow but nodded nonetheless. Sirius reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a piece of parchment and handing it to Remus. “I want this on my back.”

The yellowed paper held an unsteady sketch of four constellations, all of which Remus recognized from Astronomy; Orion, Boötes, Andromeda, and Canis Major. Certain points seemed to twinkle weakly on the paper, giving the illusion of real stars.

“Sirius,” Remus said carefully. “You don’t want me-- I mean, I wouldn’t know how--”

“I’ll talk you through it,” Sirius cut in, taking the paper from his hands. “Please?”

Remus thought for a moment, staring at the paper, then at Sirius, then back at the paper. “Okay,” he decided.

-

-

-

It was the fourth time that week that Sirius rushed into the Great Hall twenty minutes late for the midday meal and hauling a massive book under his arm.

“Been messing around in the library again, Pads?” James asked. The inquisitive look he shot Sirius was reciprocated with rolling eyes and a loud _thud_ as aged wood met equally (if not more) aged leather. Peter and James coughed, waving their hands in front of their faces in an attempt to bat away the clouds of dust suddenly launched toward them. Even Remus raised an eyebrow, looking up from an article on the medicinal benefits of quartz powder in green tea.

Upon directing his full attention to Sirius and his sudden entrance, Remus noticed two things. One--Sirius’s sleeves were rolled all the way down underneath his robes, and two--bits of ink stained the pads of his fingers, but not the dark black ink typically wrote in; instead, a mixture of blues, whites, and small flecks of yellow.

Remus sighed and let his copy of the _Prophet_ fall to the tabletop. “ _Another_ one?”

While Sirius looked surprised and embarrassed all at once, James only looked more confused. “Another _what_?” he asked, gaze jumping from annoyed Remus to flustered Sirius.

A tiny smile worked its way onto Sirius’ face until it became a full-blown grin. “I’ll show you tonight.”

The entire day it seemed that James and Peter were vibrating, ecstatic at the idea that Sirius had another incredible creation to share and, though it was only a tattoo, the necessary delay of seeing it made the occasion all the more enticing and extraordinary. Remus felt this as well, even if he forced the feeling to remain deep in his bones and not permeate too much of his exterior self. He always was excited when Sirius created a new tattoo — even when many of them were brought on by mischief or heartache. The creative side of Sirius is something that Remus got to see very rarely, and just the thought of these small outbursts of art and emotion made Remus feel as though he were freefalling. It was no surprise that this feeling intensified until he, James and Peter were all sitting in a circle on their dorm room floor, curtains drawn to block out the pale moonlight filtering through the windows, and fidgeting impatiently as Sirius undid the button on the cuff of his sleeve.

The dark-haired boy flicked his eyes around at his friends, grinned, and tugged his sleeve up as far as it would go.

It was a few seconds before Remus’ eyes adjusted to the soft glow emanating from Sirius’ forearm. “ _Stars,_ ” whispered Peter in astonishment.

The skin from the inside of his elbow to the edge of his wrist disappeared in the shadow of the room, highlighted only by slight hazes of deep, rich purples and blues. Twinkling dots scattered across his arm, a smattering of shiny freckles, and just brushing his wrist was a brightly glowing crescent, its surface pocketed with faint crescents.

The four boys watched the tattoo with rapt attention as a cloud passed over the moon, and a small comet dashed across Sirius’ skin so fast they nearly missed it.

“ _Merlin’s beard_ ,” James breathed.

“How . . .” Remus began, but he felt himself trail off, mesmerized by the stars.

A few more moments of silence passed before Sirius huffed softly, stars shaking as his arm did. “Yeah. Took for-bloody- _ever_ to build the spell. I had to adapt it from the one up in the Great Hall, which was a whole week of research just to figure out _that_ charm. Don’t even get me started on the first attempts. The sky was neon green, but at least I had the sense to test it on skin that can be hidden easily.” He twisted his arm slightly, and Remus swore he could see _into_ the sky; where skin should be an endless cosmos rested instead.

“There’s no way you could have done this on your own,” James said suddenly, eyes still glued to Sirius’ arm.

An offended expression split across Sirius’ face, but his smile soon replaced it. “Nice to know you think I’m a dumbass, Jamsie. And no, I didn’t do it on my own because I’m not some great warlock like dear old Dumbles. I had some, how should I say, _under-the-table_ help from Flitwick and Strongston.”

“Strongston’s still _alive?_ ” Peter asked, eyebrows hitting his hairline. “I thought that dust bag kicked the cauldron fourth year?”

“Well, if he had then I’d be out of luck. He’s probably the only charms professor still alive who understands what’s going on up in the Great Hall’s canopy.”

Silence fell over the room again as the cosmos in Sirius’ skin continued to rotate.

Thousands upon thousands of rotations later, Prisoner Number PA390 sat alone in his black, sealed cell, nearly blind from ages of sitting in complete darkness. He would have gone insane years ago, if not for the small, faded moon that glowed faintly from his wrist once every month with the memory of a soft voice, worn sweaters, and scarred skin.

-

-

-

“It’s almost the twentieth.”

Remus could feel the shift of fabric and hair as Sirius turned his head. His nose was cold when it pressed against Remus’ bare shoulder – Remus supposed that meant Sirius was healthy, and swallowed a laugh.

“Yeah?” Sirius responded, voice quiet and soft.

“We leave on the twenty-third.”

“And?”

“And, we don’t come back.”

Sirius gave an irritated huff but made no other movement besides cuddling deeper into Remus’ side. “So we’ll get a house.”

“Sirius, I’m flattered, but you’ve only just courted me last month.”

“No, I’ve been _courting_ you for years,” Sirius sighed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the canopy of the dorm bed, now too small for the two near-adults. “I’ve only just now managed to get you into bed with me.”

Propping himself up on one elbow, Remus looked down at the mess beside him. “You’re unbelievable, you are.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

He rolled his eyes and flopped back down onto the pillows, still too weak and warm from waking up happy to do much else. They were silent for a while longer before Remus spoke up again. “It’s not realistic.”

“What?”

“This isn’t realistic, Sirius,” Remus repeated, not taking his gaze away from the canopy. “You’re not going to stay. Not with me. Not for long, at least.”

Sirius sat up, pushing hair out of his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“No one ever does. And you . . . well, you’ve never stayed with someone longer than a couple months. You get bored. I’m boring. You’ll get bored.” The words were falling out of Remus’ mouth without much thought, without much heart.

Sirius was silent again. He took a breath as if to say something, frowned, and shifted himself on the bed, squashing Remus’ legs in the process. Remus protested and tried to move, but before he could get up Sirius had pinned his legs down by sitting on them. “Whatever you’re trying to accomplish here--” Remus began, and when Sirius began removing his shirt Remus groaned and covered his face with his arms. “Sirius, you can’t just persuade me with--”

“Quiet, Remus.”

Raising an eyebrow, Remus lifted one of his arms just enough to glare at Sirius. It was then that his retort caught in his throat and stuck there. He was unable to breathe.

Of course the sight of Sirius shirtless made him breathless – it always had. This was different, however; over Sirius’ heart – where before there had been nothing but empty, smooth, golden skin – was inked a simple black circle, filled in enough so that only a crescent shape was empty on its left side. Remus’ mind screamed _waxing gibbon, not waning, the Moon’s already passed_ as he sat up and raised his hand to the image, feeling as though he were floating. He tried to speak, but found the words lost as his fingers hovered above Sirius’ skin.

“It follows.”

Remus looked up, startled by the sudden movement of Sirius’ chest. “What?”

“The real moon, I mean. The tattoo is in sync with the real moon’s cycle.” An odd blush spread across Sirius’ face, blooming down his neck and across his shoulders. Remus’ eyes fell back onto the tattoo and he stared, eyes wide, for longer than he ought to have. He was startled yet again by Sirius’ voice. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t meant it. You know that.”

“Do I,” Remus said absently, finger tracing the lines of ink and raising goose bumps on the other boy’s skin.

“Yes. You do.” Sirius brought his hands up to Remus’ face, drawing him away from the tattoo and coaxing their eyes to meet. “I _have_ loved you for seven years. Maybe more. Who knows?” Gently, Sirius pressed a kiss on Remus’ forehead, and he could feel Remus shaking beneath his lips. “I’m not leaving you. You haven’t gotten rid of me yet, you sure as hell aren’t getting rid of me now.”

Unable to do much else, Remus nodded and wrapped his arms around Sirius’ torso, clinging to him as if he were drowning.

It was hours later that James finally came up to the dorm to find them still holding each other, eyes closed, faces content, and he walked back into the common room with a grin. He gave a thumbs-up to Lily, who rolled her eyes, turned the page in her book, and mumbled, “ _Finally._ ”

-

-

-

They’d been in the hospital for nineteen hours, seven minutes. Remus knew. He kept looking down at his watch, at the clock on the wall, at the time on the news screen on the television in the corner of the waiting room. He was calm, otherwise – he didn’t really fidget much, never had. Sirius, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. The man sat hunched over in the chair beside Remus, knee bouncing at a manic pace as he twirled a small baby’s rattle between his fingers. Yellow with a green stripe about the middle, the rattle gave off a gentle tinkling of a bell as it shook in Sirius’ hand, spinning around and around in one direction, then around and around in the other. There was so much pent up energy being slowly released that Remus was worried Sirius would explode before the night was out.

“Hey,” he finally said, breaking the silence that had constituted the last two hours. The rattle stopped and Sirius looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. “She’s going to be fine,” Remus assured, and Sirius’ shoulders seemed to relax at that, if only minutely.

“She’s been in labor for nearly twelve hours.” His voice shook slightly. Wrapping an arm around Sirius’ shoulder, Remus squeezed and rubbed his thumb on the worn leather of Sirius’ riding jacket. He’d come straight from Grimmauld Place, flying for nearly an hour through the rain and dodging Death Eaters and other spies to make it to Cardiff in time to wait again. His hair was still wet, pulled back into a sloppy ponytail to keep it out of his eyes.  

“She’ll be fine,” Remus repeated. Then: “Come with me.”

“What?”

“I said come with me. I need food and you need to walk off your ensuing panic attack.”

Sirius gave him a look that said _I am perfectly fine Remus what are you talking about_ but stood nonetheless, shoving the rattle into his pocked and allowing himself to be led by the hand out of the waiting room and toward the cafeteria.

The walk did them both good; Remus’ legs had started going numb from sitting for so long, and it was obvious that Sirius’ back was beginning to ache. On the walk there they were silent, holding hands in empty hallways and walking suspiciously close in others, and it reminded Remus of school again. When they reached the cafeteria, Remus made Sirius pay for the meal using muggle money, a skill that Sirius was still trying to perfect. Now that they were constantly in hiding, blending into Muggle society was a necessity for Sirius, who’s highborn wizarding life was so deeply engrained into the way he walked, the way he spoke, and the way he handled money. Remus had it easier – he’d lived around muggles for the majority of his life before he went to Hogwarts, and even then he hadn’t changed as much.

Since the cafeteria was serving breakfast (it was around 5am) they bought four croissants and two coffees, Remus dumping an abhorrent amount of sugar into his while Sirius garnished his with the smallest amount of cream. While they ate they talked about menial things – books, television shows, what needed to be picked up at the store, but never anything magical. They had to be careful, even if it meant being too careful.

“I’ve had better,” Sirius mumbled through a bite of croissant.

Remus snorted into his coffee. “We can’t all be born in France.”

“They could at least try.”

Remus laughed again, and for some reason he couldn’t stop. He just kept giggling into his cup, shaking in his chair, and soon Sirius was giggling along with him, and the looks that the people threw them only made them laugh harder.

“ _Shiloh!_ ”

The shout made both men jump in their skins, nearly spilling their coffees into their laps. Shiloh was Sirius’ designated code name outside of the Order when he couldn’t be called Padfoot in polite company. The source of the shout stood in the doorway of the cafeteria, sweat staining his clothes and his brow. James was practically collapsed on the doorframe, gasping for breath. “Shiloh, Ryan, you . . . she . . .”

“John, John,” Sirius said, jumping up from the table and propping James up before he fell to the floor. “Words. Use them.”

“It’s . . . It’s a boy.”

-

-

-

Remus awoke to the sound of giggles echoing down the hall, nearly giving him a heart attack before he realized where he was and that he was, in fact, safe. Possibly. Probably. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and released it slowly as he rolled out of bed and tugged on what he hoped was a shirt. The giggling continued and was joined by a soft rumble of a familiar voice as Remus drew closer and closer to the nursery down that hall.

Even though he knew that it was Sirius, the shape hovering over the crib still made something inside Remus itch for the wand in his pajama’s pocket. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Sirius’ middle and watched as Harry grabbed for the small yellow and green rattle tattooed onto Sirius’ forearm, which tinkled softly as his arm shook above Harry’s head. The child giggled at the sight, tiny fingers flexing and waving toward the sound.

“Can’t sleep?” Remus asked, placing his chin on Sirius’ shoulder.

Sirius snorted. “None of us can, evidently.” Harry cooed in agreement.

“Was he crying?”

“He’d started to whine.” Remus hugged Sirius a bit harder, and in response Sirius sighed and lifted his free hand up to cover Remus’ hand. “I was already awake, Remus. Don’t be hard on yourself.”

“I should have heard something. I should have—“

“ _Stop_ , Remus. We’re fine. It’s fine. It’s all fine.” Sirius turned and wrapped his arms around Remus’ neck, pulling him so their chests were flush. Remus could feel their hearts beating, and he grounded himself in it. “Albus already came through and charmed the house,” Sirius continued, “James and Lily will only be gone for one more day. We can do this. We’ve been doing it for a week now.”

Remus nodded into Sirius’ neck, breathing deeply and feeling himself calm to an almost lethargic state as they stood over Harry’s crib, watching as Harry cooed softly to himself and played with the stuffed horse beside him.

“Do you think you’d ever want kids?” Sirius said, and a startled giggle escaped Remus.

“Not with my genes. Only if they have your eyes. Or your hair.”

“Mmm. Yeah. We’d probably not want your genes involved, lest our children have awful gangly feet.”

“One of which will be going up your ass if you keep calling me _gangly._ ”

“ _Remus._ Not in front of the _children_.”

“He’s not even ours, Pads.”

“True. Let James deal with it when the time comes. Hey, speaking of –“

“No. Absolutely not. We are not naming our child James.”

“But he’ll be so _disappointed_ , Moony. What would we name our firstborn son if not after his godfather?”

“I dunno. Sam.”

“Sam? That’s dull. What about Olivier, or Theodore, or something of the like.”

“Hm. I like Theodore.”

“Mmm. We could call him Teddy.”

“Mmm.”

It was several minutes before a yawn finally overtook Harry’s small frame and he rubbed his eyes, curling into himself and his eyes finally drifting closed.

Sirius was the first one of the two men to move, gently shifting them so they walked back to the guest bedroom with their hands linked between them. Soon they were back under the heavy duvet, their wands under the pillows and Remus’ head resting on Sirius’ chest.

-

-

-

The wind bit harshly at Remus’ skin, sneaking into every place not covered by clothing and chilling him to the bone. It was only the end of September and the world had already gone cold – the leaves on the trees had since passed the beautiful yellows and oranges and reds, and had faded into dull browns and greys that carpeted the sidewalk and muffled Remus’ steps as he walked along.

A snapping twig made Remus jump, and he glanced around as he climbed the stairs to the black and peeling wooden door, marked only by the rusted brass number twelve hung in the exact center. The lone key he pulled from his pocket slid into the lock without trouble, and he let himself into Grimmauld Place to seek refuge from the wind.

There would be no one there, of course no one would be there – the Weasleys were either at Hogwarts or tucked away in the Burrow, and the rest of the Order was out working their respective jobs or missions assigned for this month. Grimmauld Place was only a safe house in a time of great need, great distress.

This was a time of great need and distress, Remus argued inwardly. Of course, no one was arguing against him. He was alone, and as much as he tried to deny it, that fact was taking its toll.

The house was just as musty as it was when he’d last been there – no doubt Kreacher was still toiling away, dusting the paintings and surfaces and tending to his mistress’ portrait. Remus shed his many layers on the coat-rack and made his way up the stairs, creaking wood deafening in the silence of the abode.

It took him seven and a half minutes to find what he had come for – three cardboard boxes and one trunk that contained Sirius Black’s belongings. He soon had the contents spread about him on the floor; papers and books, shirts and posters, knick-knacks and odd bits that Sirius probably used in his magical experimentations and explorations. They all were so undeniably, painfully _Sirius_ that Remus could feel his heart crack a little bit more with each piece he pulled out.

Reaching into the third box, Remus’ fingers found a thick folder so packed with paper that it was practically bursting from the seams. Remus sat back against the massive bookshelf behind him and placed the folder in his lap, but the moment he opened the folder his heart fell to pieces.

Inside were sketches. Hundreds, thousands of sketches, portraits, doodles, comics, writings, anything that could be created with a pencil and two hands. As Remus flipped through the brittle, yellowing pages he caught glimpses of James, Peter, several teachers, and his own face over and over again. A tear worked its way down the bridge of his nose, and he caught it just in time before it dropped onto a sketch of a yellow and green rattle, that jingled softly as he moved the page.

Behind a drawing of a sea-maid surrounded by fish was a set of circles depicting the phases of the moon, and one circle enchanted to cycle through all of them.

Tucked between many pages of notes on charms, the cosmos, and enchanted murals, were several full page paintings of skies in different times of day – purple and orange sunsets, clear blue and white fluffy clouds, all in motion as if a little world were trapped in the paper.

Taped onto a sketch of what could only be a young Regulus was a torn bit of notebook paper with faint drawings of four constellations, each twinkling softly.

Drawn on the back of an ancient History of Magic essay were several sketches of mandrakes with fantastic moustaches and sets of footprints that marched across the page two by two, in endless circles, round and round and round.

Hours later, Nymphadora arrived at Grimmauld Place as per request of Molly Weasley to check on the enchantments on the building. When she made it to the upstairs bedrooms, she was confronted with Remus Lupin crying in the corner of Sirius Black’s room, clutching a drawing of a paw-print. 


End file.
